


I Don't Believe in Faeries

by Avid Moron (Nevermore9)



Category: Peter Pan - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 23:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore9/pseuds/Avid%20Moron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hook discovers the secret to Peter's magic</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Believe in Faeries

Captain Hook twiddled his mustache, watching the faerie die beneath the tip of his dagger. Its wing had been torn when the little sprite had plopped down onto his nightstand from the open window. Hook made sure to sever the creature's other wing, twitching about as the thing tried to gain air. That had brought a curious expression to his face, like dissecting an insect. Childhood memories, bits and pieces, were hard to remember for the pirate, but he knew he had done something similar with an ant back when he was still only James. What was his mother's name?  
"Peter Pan!"  
Hook reeled towards the front of his quarters. Smee was there in the doorway, rubbing the goose pimples on his fat arms. "What did you say?" Hook sneered. Under the captain's gaze Smee shrunk to half his size.  
"A-All I meant, Captain, was…," Smee glanced worriedly about the room before he looked at the faerie under Hook's knife. "Aren't you worried the boy is around with that…thing?"  
"Peter Pan," Hook whispered, not hearing his own words beneath his breath. The window was empty, a twilight sky beyond it, but Hook could see the shadow of the boy slipping into his chambers. In the dull light of an oil lamp, he imagined the boy's speechless horror at the mutilated pixie. The boy wouldn't notice as Hook's hand, the one he hadn't cut off, slipped around the child's slender neck. And then.  
"Hell."  
Smee checked over the window, inching closer to the withered faerie. Pity was the one word he could assign to the sight of it. "Captain?"  
"Hell can't help the damned thing," Hook said. Promptly, he slammed down his metal claw onto the faerie. The puny human-like head was squashed in a puff of pixie dust. Hook frowned at Smee's sickened expression as the pudgy pirate recoiled. Where is the lightning to strike me? Captain Hook thought. Where is Peter Pan?  
A warm wind drifted into the room, reminding Hook's nose of the pungent saltwater smell constantly looming about the ship. He didn't notice Smee bow out, and sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed. Underneath a pillow was kept a bottle of wine, at all times. Hook popped the cork with a single stab from his makeshift hand. The alcohol was sweet on his lips, unlike the hard punch of rum that his crew greedily gulped down night after night. Losing himself in the bottle was the sole release of tension Hook could find, especially after having anything to do with Peter Pan.  
Downing the entire wineskin, Hook's brain swam in lethargy. Visions of faerie boys and sparkling pixies were drowned out as the captain concentrated on the sensation of levitation dancing up his limbs. He felt he was floating, rising higher off the bed. It wasn't until the captain looked down that he blinked in disbelief.  
He was flying! There was at least a foot between his boots and the floorboards. Hook's awe soon settled in. The air was his, and Hook hovered throughout the room, stopping to gawk at the elevation he was at, no matter how little it was. Forks, saucers, teacups, they seemed vaguely different as Hook rose higher, testing the limits of his power. A portrait of the seven high seas was able to be admired in more detail, being framed up on the wall, away from reach. Hook even had to steady himself so as not to bump the top of his head on the ceiling.  
Gradually the ground grew closer. Captain Hook's attention was drawn to the pixie dust wiped on the shoulder of his coat. It was no longer as bright as when it had oozed out from Hook's kill, on the contrary it was rather gray, lifeless. The captain's weight pressed into the wood of the ship and Hook found himself earthbound once more. He paced over to the faerie he had made short work of on the nightstand, rolling the powdery pixie dust from its grounded remains between his fingers. He examined the substance as if under a lens. The magic radiating from the sparkling crumbs of faerie was vividly tangible. "Pan is mine."  
Thoughts of matching Peter Pan in aerial combat and pirates swooping down from the clouds on unassuming lost boys were interrupted by a collection of hoots above deck. A pair of eyes peered menacingly up at the roof of the room. The commotion only grew more intense as Hook's clouded mind tried to focus itself.  
Wheezing laughter and drunken hollers resided on every side of the ship's deck. Crewmates slapped each other's sweat drenched backs, tossed back flasks of booze, gambled, and spun tall tales of how many Indians they could gut with a single blade. Several of the men had gotten so wounded up in the merrymaking that they had burst into dance, with the amateur accompaniment of a pirate turned fiddler. Sounds of heavy boots mounting the stairs to the captain's quarters shut traps, previously throwing taunts at a spectacle in the center of the crowd, but the men didn't let that ruin their fun.  
Smee broke away from the wheel, leaping over the banister into a collection of shipmates rolling dice. Gold coins scattered as gamblers cleared their game. "Captain on deck!"  
Hook scanned the forest of gruff faces all aligned his way. Harold, the most recent edition to the cutthroat band of pirates, removed his cap and stepped off to the side. Captain Hook pushed through a bundle of beer bellies, reeking of tobacco, until he came to the heart of the celebration. A lost boy, maybe eleven or twelve, pressed face down into the grime of ship by Billings, who was thrusting himself against the child's exposed bottom like an old goat. Men cheered him on, and slapped the cheeks of the boy's rear if he squirmed too much.  
Garrett, who had a mild case of scurvy, knew that look on his captain's mug. "Found him sneaking about in the brush, capn'. Figured it'd be better to take him aboard than leave him for the redskins." Hook didn't pay him any mind.  
"Put your damned prick away," Hook said. He approached while Biggings struggled to pull up his own trousers. Someone's hiccup hammered in the fuzziness of the captain's own dulled senses. At his feet the assaulted boy lay bruised, with eyes like cold wine glasses. "What's your name?"  
The child arched his neck to view the fierce devil in front of him. "Michael," he croaked.  
Slowly, Hook lowered himself to the boy's level, so that their eyes melded together. "Well, Michael," the captain smirked. "Do you believe in faeries?"  
A low collective chuckle came from the crew as the boy stuttered. "Yes."  
"Then you'll take me to their hive." Hook stomped away, satisfied with the luck so easily granted to him. That is, if the boy could direct him to a greater source of faeries. Hook shook his black locks, spitting out a bad taste in mouth. The captain turned once more to the speechless crew. "Carry on."  
Billings licked his chops and other men drooled at the lost boy's feet. A skirmish soon erupted over who would take on the boy first. Hook heard the blows from his cabin, but he was too trained on the dead pixie to interrupt. In the dead of night, Captain Hook almost wished for a clock to tell the time. Schemes kept him awake long enough for his final moments awake to be the slight hints of sunrise.


End file.
